


The Body is Good Business

by thereweregiants



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blackwatch Era, M/M, Mission Fic, Pre-Fall of Overwatch, canon age gap, that is both a tag and a warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 08:14:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28542381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thereweregiants/pseuds/thereweregiants
Summary: This is the story of how Gabriel Reyes did not recruit Jesse McCree into Blackwatch.
Relationships: Jesse McCree/Reaper | Gabriel Reyes
Comments: 9
Kudos: 43





	The Body is Good Business

**Author's Note:**

> welp  
> start the year as you mean to go on, I guess
> 
> title from Gang of Four's [Natural's Not In It](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZFDRjuA5JV4) but honestly the feel of the fic is very [Damaged Goods](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lgd1q7FD88Y), which was basically on repeat the whole time I was writing but didn't have a good title line

“And we give a shit about some random little gang in the American Southwest...why?”

Gabriel sighs. He’s been thinking much the same thing, except somehow their name keeps showing up again and again. “They had been small time - guns, drugs, illegal tech. They’ve started to move larger and larger volumes, though, and it’s not just the product - we want to know how they’re doing it. Somehow they stole a generator the size of a house and moved it three states over.”

He stares glumly at the map of Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona. Hot, sandy desert, as far as the eye can see. Gabriel is a child of Los Angeles, he doesn’t mind a bit of heat, but there better be some damn ocean on the other side of it. The Southwest is just brutal, blowtorch hot winds and sand that will scour the skin off of you. 

And unfortunately the best idea they have right now is infiltration. 

They don’t know enough about Deadlock to understand their connections - what they’re supplying and to who. If they bust this link without knowing where the rest of the chain is going, it’ll just reform and they’ll be down one gang but up a whole bunch of other problems.

He looks over his team. They’re a good group, three people he’s handpicked over the years that can do dirty work without questioning him. The problem is, none of them are quite...right for this. Zahiem is a former junker, and it doesn’t matter how you dress him up, he always has a slightly feral air about him that has burned him on more missions than Gabriel can count at this point. There’s a reason he’s their sniper - out of sight and out of mind. Kennedy has the opposite problem - grew up with a silver spoon in their mouth and a stick up their ass that Gabriel’s mostly managed to remove at this point. Fantastic hacker, could never pass as a gang member.

And then there’s Pyotr. Great guy, excellent killer, completely mute. Useless for the primary mission but Gabriel can bring him in as backup if needed. 

...because Gabriel’s going to have to do this himself. He takes the lead on assignments all the time, but long term ones where someone is in deep cover? He would much rather supervise, to hover as the backup, ready to descend like an avenging angel if anything goes wrong. Sometimes when you’re in the thick of it, it’s harder to tell when things start to go off the rails - you’re too close to the action, too close to the players.

Gabriel looks up at the three sets of eyes that are staring at him calmly, expectantly. He sighs. “Okay, let’s talk through this. Kennedy, you’re tech, Zahiem is distance surveillance. Pyotr...hopefully I won’t need you, but we’ll prepare like you’re coming in. Let’s talk supplies.”

-x-x-x-x-x-

Wind whistles past Gabriel’s ears as he speeds down the highway in his hoverbike, the sweat evaporating from the little exposed skin he has as soon as it appears. He’s in leather from head to toe - miserable in the heat, but protection from the wind, the brutal sunshine, and any possible accidents. This is his second day on the road, second day of wandering and looking for Deadlock.

Reports had them in the area, but not much more than that. Gabriel has to find them, get into their good graces, and try and join up. 

...He’s had easier missions.

Evening brings him to a small town, one of those places that sprang up over a century ago during some industrial boom and never quite vanished after, as it turned out to be a useful fueling spot in the middle of the desert. There’s not much more than a ramshackle motel, a gas and charge station, and a bar, but all Gabriel really wants at this point is to charge his bike and get some alcohol into him.

The rest of his team is all nice and comfy on the Orca, settled some hundred miles away in the dunes. Zaheim and Pyotr are probably playing cards while Kennedy is working on that novel that they insist they’ll finish one day - 

Gabriel blinks but doesn’t otherwise react as a shotglass goes flying by his left ear to smash against the wall. He finishes the sip of bourbon he’s taking and turns around to see a man fly by and take out the omnic at the player piano. Most everyone at the bar has fled, but Gabriel paid for this overpriced drink, he’s damn well going to finish it.

An omnic with a green hood is thrown into the bar, and its hand knocks Gabriel’s drink away. Now, Gabriel is involved. Damnit. He takes a little doodad that Kennedy rigged up, a small box no bigger than a lighter, and presses it to the omnic’s side. It slumps over, motionless and chargeless. Kennedy had called it an ‘emp-in-a-box’ and Gabriel will have to tell them that it worked.

“Bars? Bars!” A woman with white hair comes over, starts slapping at the omnic’s face before spinning on Gabriel. “What the hell did you do to it?” Gabriel looks her over for a second - a silver spoon like Kennedy, but without anything to knock it out this time. Heavily-lined red eyes glare at him, and Gabriel just smiles. 

“BOB!” she screeches, and an omnic roughly the size of a house comes lumbering up. Gabriel’s attention gets caught on the tiny, ridiculous hat the omnic is wearing, and so he nearly gets his head taken off with an enthusiastic punch. With a curse, Gabriel jams the doohickey against the omnic’s side. Nothing. He ducks another punch and tries it again, this time feeling it spark and warm up. The giant omnic seems to slow down for just a moment, before swinging once more. Gabriel can dodge punches all day, he just doesn’t want it to reach for the enormous gun at its side.

It takes another four or five applications of the doohickey, but the giant omnic’s eyes finally flicker out and it sags to the side. There’s a wail from behind Gabriel, and the white haired woman - barely a woman, if she’s over twenty Gabriel would be shocked - throws herself on the omnic for a moment, hands flying as she checks it over. 

A moment later she has a rifle pointed at Gabriel’s head. That’s all right - he has a pulse pistol pointed at hers. “What. Did you. Do to him,” she snarls out. There’s something a little feral in her eyes that has Gabriel thumbing the safety off.

“Now darlin’, I’m sure Bob is fine,” a smooth voice comes from Gabriel’s left. Not looking away from the woman, Gabriel gets another pulse pistol pointed in that direction before he chances a glance over. There’s a young man there, in a leather jacket and a cowboy hat. One sleeve ends oddly at his bicep, but Gabriel ignores that in favor of focusing on the absolutely enormous pistol he has dangling from one hand.

“I’m just here to have a drink,” Gabriel says levelly, not moving his arms an inch.

“He took out Bars. And Bob!” the young woman growls out, cocking her rifle.

“Don’t make me shoot you, I still want to be able to drink here -”

“You’re not even looking at me!”

“I don’t have to look to aim,” Gabriel says and shoots off a stray lock of white hair without moving his gaze off the young man. “That was on purpose,” he says mildly, and to the woman’s credit she doesn’t flinch.

The young man moves over slowly to the woman, and Gabriel lets him do it because his gun stays at his thigh. “Ashe,” he says quietly, not taking his bright eyes off of Gabriel’s weapons. “Shit happens in a bar fight. You can come after him later but right now -”

“He hurt Bob,” she says again, and the wheels in Gabriel’s head are spinning. One of Deadlock’s head’s is supposed to be a woman named Elizabeth Ashe, which might make the young man -

“McCree, I’m gonna kill him,” she says as the rifle raises.

“Not that it matters, but your omnic is fine.”

“What?” comes from two mouths.

“What disabled them is still, ah, in testing a bit, but you can charge them back up. Maybe try the station across the street?”

Two sets of eyes narrow and Gabriel sighs. “I’m just here for a fuckin’ drink.”

Without lowering the rifle Ashe snaps out an order to some ne’e-do-wells in yellow bandannas behind her. They haul Bob away and out the door - apparently Bars doesn’t matter as much. Ashe follows, and when she’s out the door Gabriel sighs again and takes a seat once more at the bar.

There’s a creak as someone sits in the chair next to him. “That was some nice shootin’.” Full lips smile around a cigarillo as a hand is held out, now thankfully devoid of pistol. “Jesse McCree.”

Gabriel looks from the hand to the young man’s face for a moment before saying, “Are you even old enough to drink in here?” He still gives it a shake - broad palm, calloused fingers - before taking a moment to remember his pseudonym: “Ruben Garcia.”

“Mr. Garcia” - Jesse rolls the name around in his mouth for a moment before a smile tugs up one corner. “Age doesn’t matter around here less than power. Firepower, to be clear.” He cocks his head to the side. “You seem to be handy with a gun or two. If you’re lookin’ for a job, I might have something up your alley.”

Well, then. This might be easier than Gabriel thought. “I don’t think your partner likes me too much at the moment.”

Jesse laughs, full throated and earnest, before drinking down the glass full of rotgut the bartender had put in front of him without blinking. “Ashe doesn’t like anyone, not even me. She does like money, though, and havin’ you on board might help us in that respect.”

Gabriel takes his own sip of brown liquor of some kind before asking, “What’s the job?”

A shrug, so easy and casual that it must be anything but. “We serve as escorts for packages going from one place to another. There’s a lot of gangs out here, you just can’t be too careful these days.”

Using a straw, Gabriel pushes Jesse’s arm until it rotates. Jesus, between the ripped-sleeve leather jacket, the yellow bandannas, and the goddamn fingerless gloves, he looks more like a caricature of a gang member than an actual one. The ink on his forearm, a well-healed winged skull with banners, says a different story, however. “Gangs, eh.”

Jesse’s smile has an edge to it now. “I’m not askin’ you to sign up, just make sure things stay safe.”

“How much?”

Jesse names a number that isn’t particularly high, but - “And we can house you. Room an’ board.”

Gabriel snorts. “You got a moving motel around here somewhere? All I saw is that shithole across the street and they told me they were full up.”

A slow grin spreads across Jesse’s face, and he jerks his head to come along as he gets up.

Gabriel follows.

-x-x-x-x-x-

‘Moving motel’ turns out to be not far off the truth, and an explanation for how they’re moving everything. Deadlock has - a train. A train that can use old-school railroad tracks, newer hypertrain tracks, and even just going across the desert with hovercraft-like capabilities. 

Jesse pats the side of the elongated vehicle fondly. “She gets us where we need to go, anywhere from Texas to Mexico up to California and even Wyoming.”

“You don’t go east at all?”

The ridiculous-looking leather cowboy hat shakes back and forth. “It does best on sand and hard earth, mud gunks her up right quick. Plus,” he adds with a shrug. “This is where we’re from, where we know the people and the land. There’s more than enough business here.”

Jesse shows Gabriel to a tiny berth, like what he’s seen on board ships. A few cars have a narrow hallway down the middle and beds on either side, blocked off by sliding doors. “Biometric locks, feel free to leave whatever in here, though we’ve got some tech people with wanderin’ fingers so fair warning. There are facilities at the ends of the cars, don’t use up all the water.”

“And my hovercycle?”

“You can drive it up the back ramp of the last car, it’s where we keep all the various vehicles. Make sure to lock it somehow, though. It’s not on us if it goes walkin’ without you.”

Thankfully Kennedy has loaded the thing up with enough protections that if anyone other than Gabriel tries to start the bike up, they’ll get some unpleasant surprises. Gabriel nods, not planing on telling any of that to Jesse. 

“So,” Gabriel says, sitting down on the bed and purposefully putting himself at a lower level. “Am I here for - general purposes, or a specific job?”

Jesse smiles that easy smile of his once again, not taking the bait. “Let’s see how you do over the next few days, then I can tell you.” He walks down the pathway to the other cars before pausing and turning. “I haven’t told Ashe yet, so I’d stay out of her way for a while.”

Great.

Gabriel wants nothing more than to message his team, but he has no idea what kind of monitoring equipment they have. Better to wait until he’s on his bike out on the road. He lays back on the bunk and stares at the bare metal ceiling, wondering how long he’s going to be in this for.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Gabriel keeps his head down, his gun up, and ignores the looks that Ashe sends him. He does go over to Bob and they kiss and make up, so to speak. Bob doesn’t talk, but his movements when reacting to Gabriel’s careful comments about Ashe are eloquent. Gossip gathering says that Bob has been with Ashe practically since birth, which explains her somewhat over-the-top reaction. 

Ashe and her upbringing - the initial silver spoon thought was correct, she’s old oil money, or at least was before she was kicked out - explains more. Some of the items Deadlock has been moving, working-class and poor gang members wouldn’t even know existed: Ashe’s knowledge of what’s valuable and why has obviously been profitable.

Gabriel isn’t quite sure how Ashe and Jesse found each other, but does know that none of it would be moving as smoothly as it does without Jesse. Ashe is intelligent, brutal, and impulsive - Jesse tempers her, turns her impulses into plans that _work_ and work well. Gabriel hates himself a bit for it, but can’t help thinking that he’d make an excellent addition to a Blackwatch team, after a bit of civilization.

It’s a week in, and Gabriel is trying to figure out how to work his way up the food chain. Being older and obviously more experienced has let him rise to directing groups, even leading a raid on a warehouse once. He needs to get closer to the inner circle though, figure out who Deadlock is actually selling to. 

The sun is shining brightly, and Gabriel is thankful for his tinted goggles. Jesse is riding beside him about ten feet away, and they’re going fast enough that the wind covered up the report that Gabriel just made to his team. Kennedy accused him of getting comfortable and Gabriel’s pissed at them for vocalizing it, but they’re not actually wrong.

They’ve been going along at the same speed as the train for a while now, but suddenly find themselves blowing by the stopped vehicle. Pulling to a stop, Jesse frowns. “We’re not due to hit another train all day,” he mutters, before pulling binoculars out and squinting into them. The biggest fear the Deadlocks have is running into another train that’s supposed to be there: they have multiple people dedicated to just memorizing schedules and keeping them on track - or not, as the case may be.

“Come on, I can’t see shit from back here,” Jesse says, and they drive forwards past the stopped cars. They pull to a halt as they see what looks like a goddamn tank straddling the tracks, along with a bunch of people and omnics wearing well-worn leather and various scraps of fabric in a particular shade of green.

Jesse lets out a derisive sound. “Fuckin’ Sin City Outlawz - and yes, their stupid-ass name ends with a z. They’re out of Nevada, been gettin’ into our business whenever we head too far north.” 

“Hmph,” Gabriel says, resting his forearms on his bike’s handlebars. “They dangerous?”

“Yeah. They do a lot of coyote work - take people from Mexico, bring ‘em up to Canada. Some people make it, but if they’re young and female they tend to end up in one of their prostitution rings in Reno or Vegas.” Jesse sounds, angry, bitter. Gabriel spends a few seconds wondering about his life before Deadlock, before shaking his head at himself.

Before they can talk any further, there’s a whoop and a gun fired into the air, and the other gang is streaming down towards them, a river of pulse flashes and the glint of chains. Jesse and Gabriel both unholster their guns and drive their bikes close to the train to park them before getting into the fight.

It’s long and tiring, for the most part. Gabriel is used to fighting alongside people that know how to fight. Here, that’s limited to Jesse, Ashe, Bob, and whatever other omnics have decent programming. Gabriel is spending as much time keeping the Deadlock idiots from shooting each other as much as anything else. 

He takes out two Outlawz and spins around to find himself alone. A ricochet has burned a stripe along his ribs that hurts like the devil, but Gabriel ignores it because he sees Jesse, alone, with his hands up. There’s a man with a green bandanna and a gun pointed at Jesse talking at him, but Gabriel doesn’t pay him much attention. He just walks up behind and snaps the man’s neck. 

Jesse is staring at him with his mouth hanging open, but Gabriel is tired and in pain. “You seen Ashe? Where’s the rest of them?”

Ashe, Bob, and the omnic contingent of Deadlock managed to take out most of the rest of the Outlawz, and along with Gabriel and Jesse they spend the next half hour dragging cowards out from under the train and behind dunes and sending them on their way.

By the end of it Gabriel is hot, bleeding, and miserable. Dirt and grit has rubbed into the burn on his ribs, keeping it from healing SEP-fast the way it normally would. All he wants now is a shower, some painkillers, and his bunk.

Unfortunately that has to wait, for as soon as he’s wheeled his hovercycle into the back car Jesse is coming over to him and saying, “Hey, after you get a shower and cleaned up, stop by my car? I wanted to talk to you about somethin’.”

That’s the last goddamn thing Gabriel wants to do, because for better or worse - _better_ whispers the mission-oriented part of Gabriel’s brain, _worse_ says his sanity - Jesse has taken a _liking_ to Gabriel. He’s realized Gabriel’s intelligence and sense, as much as he’s tried to play down his training, and likes running plans past him. It’s...good, really, but also goddamn exhausting. Gabriel isn’t very good at the social aspect of being undercover, it’s why he tries to avoid it.

He showers quickly, trying his best to clean the grit and dust out of the burn on his side that throbs more with every passing minute. Putting on clothes that are easy to get into - loose jeans, a soft button-up that doesn’t pull at his side - Gabriel makes his way from car to car.

Near the front of the train, Ashe and Bob and then Jesse have their own cars. Presumably there’s a sleeping area, Gabriel has only seen the office section. In Jesse’s car it’s as much armory as anything - guns in various states of disarray laid on top of maps and charts, copies of the train time tables everywhere.

Apparently there are two other founders and leaders of Deadlock, but Gabriel hasn’t heard word one of who they are or where they might be.

Gabriel knocks briefly on Jesse’s door, entering at the muffled greeting. Jesse’s hair is damp and he’s in clean (well, cleaner) clothes, it appears he’s showered as well. Gesturing at the chair in front of his desk, Jesse hops up to sit carelessly on the various papers strewn across it. “I wanted to talk to you about today.”

Sitting down with a careful exhale, Gabriel does his best to sit in and not sprawl across the armless chair. Jesse fixes Gabriel with a look, starts to talk about how they have a meeting soon with one of the primary people they sell to, and he wants Gabriel there. Gabriel knows this is important, does his best to pay attention and nod along attentively, but his fucking _side._ There’s what feels like steel wool embedded in the burn, he thinks it might be some bits from his body armor and leather jacket. SEP is finally kicking into gear and it feels like his flesh is trying to heal _around_ the intrusions.

Gabriel blinks and somehow Jesse is right in front of him. “I get the feelin’ you’re not all there right now, Garcia. You okay?”

Gabriel Reyes would brush it off, but Ruben Garcia is softer, he has to remind himself. Weaker. “I, uh. Got a graze earlier. Nothing major, but it’s distracting.”

Jesse nods at Gabriel’s left side where - shit - blood is soaking through his shirt slowly. “There, I’m assumin’. Wait there.” He jumps off the desk, goes to a cabinet and roots around in it until he pulls out an enormous medkit. “Unbutton your shirt.”

Hesitating, Gabriel looks at Jesse, who is already opening the kit. “Before we could afford to hire someone trained in it, it was just Ashe an’ Bob an’ me, and we were all we had to patch ourselves up. I’m good at this, come on now.” 

You’re Garcia now, Gabriel tells himself, and unbuttons his shirt slowly, revealing the slowly weeping burn. Jesse makes a _tch_ sound between his teeth, and starts to clean it out as businesslike as any field medic Gabriel’s seen. There’s some kind of numbing agent in the cream he puts on, and soon Gabriel can’t feel a thing.

Even after he’s taped up, Jesse’s long fingers smooth over the edges of the bandage, over and over. “You saved my life today, y’know. That guy, who had me pinned - he is, was, the leader of the Outlawz. Now that you killed him I don’t know if they’ll be a bother any more.” He looks up at Gabriel, and his eyes are wide and clear and earnest. “I’m glad you took out Bob in that bar fight, Garcia. You’ve proved to be an asset.”

He licks his lips and Gabriel is caught on the shine of the lower one when Jesse says: “Let me thank you.”

 _Oh, no._ No no no this was _not_ on the list of what Gabriel signed up for this assignment. Jesse is kneeling between Gabriel’s legs, though, and his mouth is hanging open all pink and vulnerable and _christ_ that’s a hand rubbing the too-thin material over Gabriel’s cock. 

“Jesse, I don’t think -” Gabriel is trying to figure out what fucking Ruben Garcia would say in this situation, but it’s also been a long fucking time alone in Switzerland and he can feel himself responding to Jesse’s hand despite himself. 

Jesse backs off, only to climb onto Gabriel’s lap. “You don’t think what?” he murmurs, carding a hand through Gabriel’s shower-damp hair as he pushes Gabriel’s already open-shirt from his shoulders with the other hand. “Oh -” he says blankly, looking down, and Gabriel tenses up. He hadn’t planned on sleeping with anyone, hadn’t gotten any makeup to cover the myriad scars that cover his body. Although maybe it would add to the idea of Garcia being a lone wolf worker - 

Careful fingers trace over his scars, one by one. Gabriel is barely breathing, unsure of what is happening or how he - how Garcia - should respond. “Look at you, look what’s been done to you,” Jesse says, quietly enough that Gabriel doesn’t know if he’s supposed to hear it. Those big hands of his roam over Gabriel’s skin, touching where an omnic punched a hole in his side, where a Talon sniper took a chunk out of his bicep and shattered the bone, where a strip of skin was peeled off by an insane Junker. Jesse seems almost - reverent as he examines Gabriel, and god help him Gabriel softens under the touches. 

Every move Jesse makes is careful, thoughtful, like he’s been thinking about this for awhile. Fingers rub over the bar code at Gabriel’s hip, the stark black lines and the numbers 024 along the side. He drags his nails through Gabriel’s chest hair, greying at the edges, and Gabriel doesn’t like to think about why that might hold fascination for him, might be something new to experience. He shifts back in his chair, but it only lets Jesse settle easier on his lap, to press the swelling in his own pants against Gabriel’s own. 

Jesse’s hands trace up Gabriel’s skin slowly, until he’s combing his fingers through Gabriel’s beard and looking at him from inches away and saying _let me please let me._ Hair, softer than it has any right to be, brushes against Gabriel’s temple and then chapped lips are pressed to his own, off-center and awkward. 

Whatever Jesse’s experience in the bedroom - or back alleys, more likely - it must never have involved much kissing because he’s soon pulling back with red cheeks and downcast eyes and a flustered look on his face. Gabriel - _what the fuck are you doing, Reyes?_ \- pulls him back in with a hand around his neck before he realizes what his hands are doing. He just - god. At least let the kid learn to make out correctly.

He’s certainly enthusiastic, Gabriel will give him that. Too much, though - Gabriel’s soon pushing Jesse’s face back gently, showing him how to go about this slow, slow. Gabriel doesn’t even notice when Jesse loses his shirt, when Jesse pushes his own down and past his wrists to slip from the back of the chair to the floor. He does pay attention when Jesse pulls back, their lips parting with a soft, wet sound. 

Jesse leans back against his desk to pull his pants down and off - no underwear, of course - to stand unabashedly naked in front of Gabriel. Gabriel, who comes back to his senses a bit at the long, lean tanned limbs in front of him, shoulders that are broad but not built out yet, a waist that’s almost delicate with teenage slimness. His cock stands out in front of him almost laughably out of proportion to his body, thick and red and bobbing as Jesse steps forward.

He’s so fucking _young._ Gabriel can’t do this. 

Neither Jesse nor Gabriel’s body is listening to Gabriel’s mind, however, and when Jesse climbs back onto Gabriel’s lap his hands easily rest on those narrow-winged hips, his fingers nearly touching in the back. Jesse leans forward once more to kiss Gabriel but now he grinds his hips down and forward, leaving shining trails of precome against the skin of Gabriel’s stomach. 

Gabriel keeps trying to set his mind to the mission, to ask himself if this was what Garcia would do. To fuck a man, a _boy_ , twenty years his junior. _Why not?_ asks the purely Blackwatch part of Gabriel’s brain that he doesn’t like to let out that often. _What’s it going to hurt? If this is what gets Gabriel closer to Jesse, to knowing who is hiring Deadlock and whether they’re a threat - why not? And if he gets laid in the process, a little stress relief never hurt anyone, right?_

Right.

And so Gabriel doesn’t object when Jesse bites a mark into his collarbone, doesn’t object when Jesse unzips his pants and wraps a hand around him where he’s hard and obvious in his want. Doesn’t object when Jesse lets him go and slides half off in order to grab a small bottle off of his desk and snap the cap off confidently. 

Gabriel lets Jesse twist his fingers into himself, listens to the wet, obscene sounds as Jesse pants damp hot breaths into his collarbone. It’s boring, though, and taking too damn long. Gabriel knocks Jesse’s hand away and shoves his own fingers in, starting with two. Jesse cries out, ruts instinctively against Gabriel’s stomach before digging his fingers into Gabriel’s ribs. 

Pouring a bit more lube on, Gabriel twists his hand and feels Jesse open for him easily. He wonders how often he does this. Whether he opened himself up for the first time or someone else did it for him. Whether they used lube or something less kind. Regardless it could only gave been a scant few years ago, and Gabriel’s fingers move faster, crueller, at the thought of how few people have touched him here.

“Garcia, slow - slow down, I’m gonna -” Jesse is mumbling into Gabriel’s neck but he ignores it. He’s eighteen, refractory periods are nonexistent at that age. Gabriel tells him as much, voice a half octave lower than normal. Tells Jesse that it’s okay, just let go, stop trying to touch himself, he doesn’t need it. Gabriel has one arm wrapped around Jesse’s back with his hand gripping his neck, his other hand working inside of Jesse. He _feels_ it when Jesse convulses in his grasp, when his nails draw blood from Gabriel’s sides, when he comes hot and wet across Gabriel’s chest. 

Garcia probably wouldn’t have done this, but Gabriel really doesn’t care. He strokes the sweat-damp back of Jesse’s head, enjoying the feeling of power he has, to make another person to turn to putty in his hands. Lube sticky fingers pet down Jesse’s side as Gabriel idly thinks about what he could do with someone so young and responsive and untrained in his bed. 

At first Gabriel thinks Jesse is just moving closer, but then his his cock is slowly being encased in hot, wet heat. Jesse slides slowly down, thigh muscles flexing and brow furrowed. _Gotta make sure to take one of Angie’s antibiotic packs when I get back,_ Gabriel thinks to himself, unused to the feeling of slick flesh wrapped around him without a latex barrier. It’s...christ, it’s good, though. 

Jesse rides Gabriel like a pro, and he doesn’t know whether it’s from horseback riding or days on the hoverbike or whether he just gets fucked that much, he doesn’t really care when that tight, round ass is slamming down onto him over and over again. His balls are heavy and swollen between his legs, a stark contrast to Jesse’s that are pulled up high and tight under his cock. Gabriel wraps a hand around him, strokes him in rhythm with his hips. It’s not long before Jesse is coming again, making more of a wreckage of Gabriel’s chest. He slumps into it, heedless of the mess, limp against Gabriel’s body.

Gabriel sets his hands on Jesse’s hips, works him up and down like a toy. After a few minutes Jesse seems to wake up and get back into things, trying to shift his hips in Gabriel’s grip to help things along. Gabriel doesn’t like to think that it’s Jesse’s lips moving against his neck and whispering slurred encouragement that finally pushes him over the edge, he’ll admit to nothing. 

He pulls Jesse down tight against him as he comes and comes, breathing hot into the crook of Jesse’s neck. “Still? Really?” Jesse mutters blearily after nearly a minute. Gabriel doesn’t have the ability to explain SEP weirdness to him, so he just halfheartedly sucks at a rapidly bruising spot on Jesse’s neck and pats the slight bulge in his stomach. He does stop coming eventually, then softens enough to slip out. 

Gabriel can’t help from sliding a hand down, feeling where Jesse is swollen and puffy and gaping open a bit. At where Gabriel is dripping out. As Jesse sits back, Gabriel pulls his hands forward, steadies Jesse on his thighs. Jesse’s eyes are wet and tired-looking, but there’s something almost calculating as he looks over Gabriel’s face. “You needed that,” he says. “Fuck, _I_ needed that.” Rough hands touch Gabriel’s face gently, trace along a sharp cheekbone. “Maybe we could help each other out a bit.”

“You said something about a meeting in a warehouse?” Gabriel finds himself saying without his brain giving much input. Jesse laughs, leans forward to press a kiss to Gabriel’s lips.

“Look at you, all back to business. And yeah, let me tell you about it.”

-x-x-x-x-x-

Gabriel agrees to go, but the back of his mind is working furiously. Jesse hasn’t told him who the meeting is actually with, and so he has no idea if he’s going to walk in and immediately get shot by someone whose brother he threw in jail last year or not. 

It turns out he’s worried for good reason - Deadlock is funding itself by selling to goddamn Talon.

The positive part is that Gabriel is used to dealing with the upper echelons of Talon, and the European and African ones at that. He isn’t as familiar with their operatives in North America, and it’s clear just a few minutes in that these aren’t people at the top of the heap.

The Talon operative is an idiot, and one not paying attention at that. He lets Jesse negotiate him into more money and less product, and manages to walk away thinking he got the better part of the deal. Gabriel just shakes his head as he, Jesse, and an omnic they brought along for extra firepower walk away.

“You don’t approve?” 

“No, no - that was a fine bit of negotiating, there. The man won’t know what hit him.” Gabriel keeps walking for a minute before saying, “I just really fucking hate Talon.”

“What, they kill someone you liked or somethin’?” Jesse puts his hands up in pre-emptive defense. “Don’t tell me, I don’t want to know. They pay the best and they’re dumb as shit, that’s what I care about. And it could always be worse, could always be Overwatch.” He sounds bitter.

“What, they kill someone you liked or something?” Gabriel says back, half mockingly, half curious. 

“They were supposed to save everyone,” Jesse says as he stretches his arms out before getting on his bike. “Shit job they did of it,” he says with a half smile, before he takes off with as much of a roar as the hovercycle’s engine can give.

Shit. It had been a joke at first, but Gabriel’s been thinking about it more and more seriously - they’re going to have to dismantle Deadlock, that’s for sure. Supplying the amounts they are and to Talon, no less, is something they can’t abide. And Gabriel has been thinking - yes, Gabriel’s brain not his dick, he keeps telling himself - that he might offer Jesse an option. Go to jail with everyone else, or join Blackwatch.

The kid’s got a great brain, it’d be a shame to waste it. Hating Overwatch isn’t a dealbreaker, though - half of Blackwatch aren’t the biggest fans of their parent organization. There’s a reason they ended up in Blackwatch, after all.

Gabriel gets on his own bike, speeds up to pull even with Jesse. They’re fast enough that he chances tonguing the fake back molar he has, opening the comms channel with the Orca. He quietly gives a sitrep, talks about how Deadlock definitely needs to come down now. 

Jesse turns his head, cocking it as best he can in the wind. “You say somethin’?” he bellows out over the background noise. Gabriel shakes his head in response.

“A week, Ken. Call Jack, let him know we’ll need at least one more team and possibly more.” Gabriel signs off, but not before noticing that Jesse’s still looking over at him. 

Gabriel brushes off the wave of paranoia that sweeps up from the base of his spine. Unlike Jesse, Gabriel wears a helmet on his bike that covers his mouth, plus with the subvocals Jesse couldn’t hear anything to begin with. 

It’s fine. 

-x-x-x-x-x-

“Now _that_ was a fuckin’ fight, am I right or am I right?” Jesse’s grinning away, even though he’s got a bandage wrapped around one forearm and another around his forehead where he caught a piece of shrapnel. His hair is sticking up and he looks young and goofy, like a kid who just fell off his bicycle. 

“I think we have different definitions of what’s enjoyable, here,” Gabriel says dryly, shrugging off his jacket and brushing the dust off. 

They’d been making a pickup from some Mexican gang, crates of tightly-packed tiny boxes nestled in foam that held expensive bits of gold and lithium and cobalt that eventually will become omnics. Some other gang that their contacts had a feud with decided to intercept, however, and it turned into a firefight.

Gabriel got out just fine, although one of his pulse pistols got shattered across the back of some gangbanger’s head. Given that the guy was about the shoot Jesse, he’s considering it the price of business. 

Jesse took a couple of wounds that Gabriel didn’t witness, though it looks like the one to his head hasn’t diminished his enthusiasm at all. In fact - 

“Why don’t we celebrate?” Jesse murmurs before jumping up at Gabriel, who catches him automatically. He tries to say something but Jesse’s mouth is there, hot and wet, and it’s easier to just go along with it - or so Gabriel tells himself.

_A little stress relief never hurt anyone, right?_

“Liked how you took that guy out who was gunnin’ for me,” Jesse says in between kisses. “Not the first time, neither. You like protectin’ me, huh?” He rolls his hips forward, the best he can. “You like takin’ care of me?”

“Not particularly, but you’re the one who pays me,” Gabriel says in retort, walking forward so he can dump Jesse’s ass on top of his desk. He’s telling himself that Garcia does like Jesse, does want to protect him. Gabriel, on the other hand, just wants to put him in his place. “You make a lot of stupid moves, you know,” he finds himself saying without his brain having much input.

Jesse’s eyes narrow. “Beg pardon.”

Gabriel sighs, thumbs over Jesse’s lip. Shoves it in a bit and watches as he licks at it. “Deadlock moves like thirty separate parts, aside from you and Ashe and Bob and the omnics that you got from the same place. You need to spend more time training, less time dodging friendly fire.”

Jesse bites down - hard - before spitting Gabriel’s thumb out. “Survived this long without you, old man. You think you can walk in here and tell me what to do?” He hops off the desk and turns, but Gabriel is fairly sure he’s just doing it for show. Brat.

Gabriel steps forward, wraps a hand around Jesse’s throat. Pulls him back, Jesse’s head fitting perfectly into the space between Gabriel’s neck and shoulder. “I think you want to be told,” he murmurs into the soft, vulnerable skin covering Jesse’s collarbone. Uses his free hand to unbutton Jesse’s shirt the rest of the way, to spread his hands out over ribs that stand out a bit too much, over wiry muscle and the line of dark hair that leads from his navel downwards. 

Fingers walking down that line, Gabriel plays with the button of Jesse’s jeans. “I can always stop,” he says conversationally.

“Please just - please,” Jesse says, and his voice cracks somewhere between words. He makes a noise as Gabriel slides his hand into Jesse’s pants without bothering to unzip them, something gutteral and animalistic. His right hand is wrapped around Gabriel’s wrist, trying to push him further, deeper. Gabriel keeps his touch light, barely gripping the sloppy length of Jesse, already dripping and making a mess of the inside of his jeans. 

He pulls his hand out abruptly, shoves Jesse forward with the hand wrapped around his neck. Jesse catches himself straight-armed on the desk, abruptly. He turns his head to glare at Gabriel, but his eyes get caught on where Gabriel is rubbing himself through his pants. 

“Pull ‘em down and bend over,” Gabriel says in a tone of voice he normally uses during training. Gratifyingly, Jesse does, heavy belt dragging his pants down to pool around those horrific boots with the knuckledusters on them. Gabriel reaches over to grab the bottle of lube, left right out there in the open. He’d like to say it was from when they fucked the other day but he wouldn’t put it past Jesse to just have lube everywhere for convenience. 

“Where did you even get those godawful shoes?” he asks conversationally as he wets his fingers. 

“They were a birthday present from - ah!” Gabriel slides his finger out slower than he’d shoved it in. “From A-Ashe.”

“Figures,” Gabriel says. “More expensive than tasteful.” He kicks Jesse’s feet farther apart, shoves another finger in. Jesse’s back arches, fingernails scratching across the table. He tries to get control of himself, twisting around to glare at Gabriel.

“Now I’m not sure who that’s insultin’ -” 

Gabriel rolls his eyes, shoves in with one hand and uses the other to flatten Jesse against the desk. Bullets roll off the sides, making musical tinkling sounds as they hit the floor. “Shut up, Jesse.”

At some point this went way past his character, way past the infiltration. Gabriel is slicking up his cock and has miles of tan skin stretched out in front of him, though, so his id shoves any rational thoughts aside for another day. Jesse groans as Gabriel slides in - perhaps not quite enough prep, or maybe it’s the angle. Gabriel just hitches Jesse’s hips a little higher so he can bottom out. 

Jesse’s arm, the bandaged one, scrabbles back at Gabriel’s hip. Gabriel doesn’t know how he fucked his arm up, doesn’t want him to bust stitches. He takes him by the wrist, presses his arm down into the desk. Leans over and uses it as leverage to fuck in harder. Jesse is chanting _yes yes yes_ on nearly silent breaths.

They’re both high on post-fight adrenaline, this isn’t going to take long. “Hope you don’t have any important paperwork here,” Gabriel grunts out before reaching underneath Jesse, jacking him fast and furious. Jesse’s letting out little moans in time with Gabriel’s hand, he can see where he’s drooled on the desk a bit. It doesn’t take long before he’s squirming underneath Gabriel, coming hot and sticky across his fist and the papers of the desk.

Like before Jesse goes a little limp, and Gabriel hauls him upright, slumped back against Gabriel’s body so he can pound into him hard over and over until Gabriel himself is coming with a soft groan and tightening of his arms around Jesse.

“You’re like a fuckin’ space heater,” Jesse mutters, trying to move away but Gabriel is still coming, iron-hard arms wrapped around until Jesse gives up and slumps in his grip. Eventually Gabriel lets go, Jesse stumbling forward before catching himself on the desk. 

“I’ve had politer fucks,” he grumbles out as he pulls his pants up.

Gabriel steps forward, grabs his face with that ridiculous scruffy beard and tilts it up until he can look him in the eyes. Until Jesse’s eyes darken and Gabriel starts thinking about round two. “You haven’t had a better one, though,” he says with assurance, and chuckles to himself as Jesse shakes himself free with a huff. 

Using what he thinks is a gun polishing cloth to wipe his cock off before tucking himself away, Gabriel grabs his jacket before looking over at Jesse. “We heading out in the morning?” They’d planned to be on the road today, but everyone needed to lick their wounds for a bit.

“Yeah, should be able to spend the night in Albuquerque,” Jesse says as he stretches his back with a crack. “Do another pickup there, drop both off in Denver later.”

Perfect. Overwatch had a semi-autonomous base over in the Navajo Nation, he would let his team know that they could make their move the next night. “Sounds good,” Gabriel says, and Jesse shoots him an unreadable look. Hell. He needs to make sure not to sound so enthusiastic. 

Jesse’s tablet vibrates, and when he picks it up there’s a man with a day-glo skull painted on his face. “I gotta take this, you mind?”

Gabriel shakes his head, stride loose and easy on his way out. He wonders, absently, what Jesse is doing with Los Muertos.

-x-x-x-x-x-

They get to Albuquerque just fine, Gabriel checking in every once in a while with his team. He keeps debating with himself - does he offer Jesse the job before they take Deadlock, or after? If he does it before, there’s less chance of injury - for both Jesse and his team. It would get rid of the element of surprise that after has, though.

Gabriel is pacing alongside the train when Jesse pokes his head out from a window - he didn’t realize he’d come all the way up to the front of the train. “You doin’ okay?” Jesse asks. “You look deep in thought.

 _Before,_ Gabriel decides. _Now._ “You have a minute?”

“Sure.”

The windows have all been closed up while they’ve been going at hypertrain speeds, so it still smells like sex in here from the day before. Gabriel purposefully leans against a chair that’s a distance away from the desk, and Jesse snickers at it. Gabriel rolls his eyes, but his face turns serious.

“You look like someone died.”

“No, nothing like that.” Gabriel has been trying to figure out how to approach this for days now, with no luck. The benefit of _after_ would be a simple ultimatum - join, or jail. This is a little more delicate. He pokes at his tooth with his tongue, two clicks. _Standby._ “So when we talked earlier, I know that you said you hated Overwatch.”

Jesse sighs. “Christ, that’s who you’re with? That’s disappointing, I owe Ashe money now. My bet was FBI.” He hits a button on his desk and a door opens, Ashe and Bob entering. Another door opens behind Gabriel, and it’s an omnic, the one they usually bring with them to meetings for firepower.

Ah, fuck.

Ashe looks - triumphant, almost, though she doesn’t say anything. Jesse crosses his legs in front of him from where he’s leaning against the desk. “Whoever is doing your tech shielding really needs to get some better gear. We’ve been listening to you for weeks now.”

Every muscle in Gabriel’s body is tight. “Why didn’t you just kill me, then?” 

Jesse shrugs. “Wanted to see what you’d do. Figured it’d be an all out attack not…” He cocks his head. “What are you doing, anyways?”

“Job offer. Then an all out attack.” 

One of those beautiful laughs, the ones where Jesse throws his head back and bares that gorgeous throat of his. “Like I would ever work for fuckin’ Overwatch.”

Gabriel is already shaking his head. “I’m not Overwatch, I’m their black ops division. Less oversight, more killing.”

Jesse’s looking at him thoughtfully. “That makes more sense. I did wonder why it was so easy to fuck you, figured y’all had morality clauses tattooed somewhere.” He sighs, pushes his hat back for a moment to scratch his head. “Sorry about the attack, and how it’s not going to happen.”

Raising an eyebrow, Gabriel says dryly, “Oh?” 

Jesse holds out a hand, and Ashe slaps something into it. Checking it over for a moment, Jesse flips it over to Gabriel who catches it with one hand. A memory stick: small, black, innocuous. “What’s this?” he says suspiciously.

“For a second I was thinking that black ops would make this harder, now I’m realizing you really don’t want your face out there. So a win-win for me,” Jesse says nonsensically.

“...Still not getting it.” 

Jesse nods at a tablet sitting on the chair by Gabriel. “Take a look.”

Gabriel looks at Jesse, at Ashe, then plugs it in. It’s...him. And Jesse. The day before, in this room. Fucking. It starts right when Gabriel grabs Jesse by the neck and pulls him back. Hitting pause: “Okay, it’s porn. Congrats. So what?”

A smile spreads across Jesse’s face, but it’s nothing pleasant. “I’m one of the Crisis Orphans. God, I hate that name, accurate as it is. Parents, family, friends, everyone died in the blowback from one of your precious Overwatch attacks. Also blew up the school and the hospital I was born in, by chance.” Jesse taps on the desk, one of the many stacks of papers. “I have a dozen identities that I use when I have to, y’know how it is. Want to know about the real one, the official one actually linked to my fingerprints and DNA in the national database? That one says I’m all of fifteen years old. Figured it’d be useful to knock my age down a bit, but didn’t know it would help this soon.” The smile twists. “Take another look at the video. It’s not edited, by the way, you helped me out all on your own.”

Despite himself, Gabriel looks down, hits play. He was - rough, he’s not going to deny that. All of Jesse’s enjoyment, his encouragement had been quiet mutters, so all he can hear that makes it to the tape is semi-pained groans and _Pleases_ and Gabriel turns it off when he watches himself shove Jesse down over the desk. With the tattoo covered up and the idiotic head injury and Jesse limp in his arms, Gabriel looks like nothing more than a pedophilic rapist.

This can’t get out. Ever.

“So congrats - you raped a fifteen year old. Or so it looks, on that tape, at least. That there is for you to keep as a souvenir, we have a few other copies stashed around. Which will be sent out if we get one fuckin’ whiff of Overwatch around here tonight.” 

Gabriel gnaws on a lip. This couldn’t have gone worse. “Why didn’t you just kill me?”

Jesse’s smile softens, turns a bit wistful. “Because I like you, Garcia - sorry. It’s Reyes, right? You did save my life a few times. I’m just not gonna let you take down everything we’ve worked so hard to put together.” 

“It didn’t have to be like this, you know.”

“It really did.” Jesse nods at the door. “Get your bike and get out of here. One hint of Overwatch or whoever the hell your people are, and this goes out to international news and then some.” 

Gabriel walks through the narrow hallways in a daze. He’s Gabriel fucking Reyes, he doesn’t get played like this, much less by a goddamn eighteen year old gangbanger. Passing by his bunk - there’s nothing for him there - he gets to the final car, gets his hovercycle. He doesn’t bother with the helmet, he needs to feel the wind tonight. Pulling out, he drives up to Jesse’s car, unsurprised to see him hanging out the window.

“If you ever decide to leave Deadlock, you know where to find me,” he calls out.

Jesse laughs. “Even after all of this?”

Gabriel can’t help but grin. “For my people, this shit would be considered a recommendation.” He pauses, before revving the engine. “Stay safe, Jesse.” The little fucker.

He activates his com as soon as he’s on the highway, telling everyone to stand down. He tries calling Jack, but his line is busy. Pulling into Watchpoint: Shiprock isn’t pleasant for anyone. His team surrounds him, demanding to know what happened.

Gabriel manages to mostly fend them off, explaining that they broke their communications encryption and got footage of damning evidence that couldn’t get out. Kennedy is infuriated enough that all her work was exposed that no one asks for details of the evidence, which Gabriel is thankful for.

It’s not until a week later when he and Jack are drinking in his office that it comes out. Jack rubs his hand over his face. “Gabe...” 

“I know.”

“I can’t really complain, I mean, the number of times your team has had to fuck your way out of trouble, it figures you’d fuck your way in at least once.”

Gabriel sighs, stares at the reflections the rocks glass is making on his hands. “At first it did genuinely help getting me into things.”

“And then?”

“And then it was just fun.” Gabriel sighs again at Jack’s snicker. “Shut the fuck up. Like you wouldn’t.” 

“Eh, maybe. I haven’t seen the kid. Wanna lend me the video?” 

Gabriel downs the last of his drink and stalks out, to the echoing sound of Jack’s laughter. 

-x-x-x-x-x-

A few months later, enough time for everything to die down. Gabriel sends Zahiem to Pueblo. Dresses him down as a Junker, albeit a well-funded one. He gets in contact with the main Talon contact of Deadlock’s, manages to seduce them with a crate of highly classified omnic parts. 

And all he wants in return is a little favor.

Kennedy has been furious, wanting revenge on Deadlock - or whoever they hired, Gabriel is betting they got someone from Los Muertos - and so they've been in their lab. They come up with yet another EMP adaptation, this one some sort of hybrid that shuts power down, and then forces it into a nearby target. Don’t ask Gabriel how it works, it’s all techspeak to him.

Although Gabriel trusts them he still sends a warning to the local hospitals to make sure their generators are shielded.

Gabriel watches it all from Switzerland, through the cameras Kennedy put all around the warehouse district. He watches as Zahiem does the deal, watches as he vanishes and Jesse and Ashe show up to do their own deal. 

Watches as they go back to a train that’s completely useless, the power of the EMP-like device having turned the engines to slag. Watches as Jesse glares around until he sees a camera. 

Jesse stalks up to it, stares at it. Stares even as Talon attacks - which is nothing that Gabriel asked of them, it’s just Talon being their greedy, violent selves. 

Finally Jesse smiles, shoots the camera the finger, and unholsters his gun. He throws himself into the fight and Gabriel can’t help but smile. 

Maybe not now, maybe not today.

Someday, though. On his own terms.

Someday he’ll get Jesse McCree. 

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on [twitter](https://twitter.com/thereweregiants), I don't bite


End file.
